


And The Time Passes Somehow

by kattytoofatty



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23365750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattytoofatty/pseuds/kattytoofatty
Summary: A violent attack leaves Thomas Barrow with child and struggling in its wake.Set after the end of series 3, post-August 1920.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Comments: 18
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had never watched any Downton Abbey until January this year when my parents bought the movie and I watched it at home with them. I binged the entire seven series in about a month and this burst out of my brain.
> 
> Obsessed is not the word.
> 
> Mpreg in this universe - it is a rare but not unknown condition. It will be discussed by characters in the story, which will give you a better idea of how it's viewed than I can describe here. It's more taboo than a woman having a child out of wedlock, because homosexuality was still a crime at that time, and falling pregnant as a man would be a giant flashing neon sign stating for the whole world that you'd had sex with another man.
> 
> The title is a quote from a book I read, 'From One Generation to Another' by Henry Seton Merriman, first published in 1909. Quite a poignant story about war, loss, and the perils of holding grudges, I highly recommend it.
> 
> TW: Mildly graphic description of rape and sexual assault in this chapter.

Thomas walked down the street, head whirling with the events of the past two months. Had it really been such a short period of time during which his life had fallen apart so dramatically? The proverbial rug ripped from under his feet, things that he had taken for granted snatched out of his hands, and him left floundering in uncertainty, unable to comprehend his loss. Lost as he was in his introspection he didn’t notice the footsteps that fell in with his, or the accompanying shadows drawing closer around him until a hand gripped his shoulder tightly, dragging him sideways down an alleyway towards a derelict warehouse. Thomas struggled against the forceful grip, but more appeared to restrain him, and a hand clamped over his mouth as he began to shout. A gravelly voice growled nastily in his ear.

“Now now, less of the noise, we wouldn’t want anyone to interrupt us.”

A few low chuckles emanated from the darkness and Thomas felt his heart sink into his boots. He was pulled along down the dark alley and into an abandoned warehouse. The doors of the warehouse clanged shut noisily as they were pushed closed by those waiting on the inside, the chains rattling against the corrugated metal and left swinging in the faint candle light that burned inside the building. Thomas was pushed forwards and fell to the floor, a ring of hostile bodies forming around him as he attempted to scramble away. He looked around at their faces, half hidden in the darkness, and counted carefully, weighing up the risk of fighting his way out.

 _Eleven,_ he thought grimly, _not a chance._

“We saw you the other week lavender. Poncing around, making eyes at other blokes. You’re disgusting.” He spat at Thomas, and a few others followed his example. Thomas flinched as he felt spittle hit his cheek, but made no reply other than to rise carefully to his feet.

“So we’ve decided we’re going to give you what you want. Or what you deserve at any rate.”

Thomas fought back as they advanced and lunged at him, but his retaliation only bought sneers of derision from his attackers, “oh what’s this? Like a bit of rough do you?”. Hands groped him roughly and tore at his clothes, grabbed his ankles and raised him into the air, dragged him over to a raised platform in the middle of the floor and slammed him face down onto it, bending him over. Thomas bit his tongue as he felt fingers enter him, refusing to beg.

“Come on now lovely, open up for us. We’ll soon get you going.”

Thomas tried to focus on other things, tried not to feel the pain as they assaulted him, but he was constantly pulled back to the present by the hot, panting breath on the back of his neck, by his aching arms as they were wrenched behind him, by the rough surface of the platform as it dug into his hips and scratched his stomach. One by one they took their fill of him, some leaving after they’d finished, others staying to enjoy his humiliation and add to his suffering, offering snide remarks about whether or not he was enjoying himself. Eventually, after what could have been hours or only the blink of an eye, Thomas realised he was alone.

Darkness proper had fallen. The candle that had burned previously had been blown out, he assumed by one of his attackers as they had left. The sun had set and cold began to seep in steadily from the shadows where it lingered in the old building, the broken windows allowing the September breeze to sail in and usher it along. His coat lay on the floor a few feet away from him; he snagged at the fabric and managed to pull it towards his as he stretched, wrapping it tightly round his shoulders, the warmth of the wool helping to quell his shivers.

He spotted a rusty telephone stood on a desk and dragged himself over to it, grimacing as he felt blood and semen trickling down his legs, praying that it was still connected. He lifted the ear piece off the hook and cried with relief as he heard the operator answer. He managed to stutter out Dr Clarkson’s number before his legs gave out and he slumped onto the floor, the ear piece hanging mockingly just out of reach. Dr Clarkson answered after only a few rings, his voice echoing from the speaker, and Thomas scrabbled to pull the telephone down to him before he could hang up.

“Thomas? What is it, what’s happened?”

“I-” Thomas voice died as he tried to articulate what had just been done to him. The only sounds he could utter were choked sobs.

“Thomas tell me where you are.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to recall the words he’d seen written on the peeling sign above the door. “Brassington’s Tannery.”

“The old factory? Alright. I’ll be there as quickly as I can. Stay where you are until I get there.” The line went dead.

Thomas let go of the phone and left it swinging, the cable pulled taught from its connection in the wall. He wrapped his coat more tightly around himself and attempted to curl his legs up towards his body, but pain radiated from his hips and the tops of his thighs as the muscle stretched and tightened. Thomas forced himself to concentrate on the slow in and out of his breathing until he heard a car pull up outside, the door slamming shut, and the screech of the warehouse doors as they were opened.

Dr Clarkson approached slowly, face blank as he surveyed the scene, pieces slotting into place as the evidence told its tale. He crouched down next to Thomas and placed his hand gently on his shoulder.

“Thomas I’m going to lift up your coat and have a quick look at you, then I’m going to take you back to Downton, alright?”

Thomas sniffed through his tears and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Dr Clarkson moved as quickly as he dared, hoping to avoid spooking Thomas, who was rapidly descending into a state of mute shock. He supported Thomas as best he was able in walking back to the car, taking as much of his weight as he could, cursing that he was no longer a young man and able to carry him properly. Fortunately he had already begun to stock the car in preparation for the return of winter, pulling a woollen blanket out of the boot and draping it over the shaking man’s legs. Before long they had arrived back at Downton and Dr Clarkson was banging on the back door, rousing the hall-boy on night-duty, who blinked owlishly in the candlelight as he opened the door and stared sleepily at him.

“Albert, go and wake Mr Carson, tell him it’s urgent, I’ll wait for him here”

Albert disappeared and came back a few minutes later with that gentleman in tow.

“I apologise for the lateness of the hour Mr Carson, but this cannot wait.”

He took Mr Carson out to the car with him, to where Thomas lay shivering, curled up under the meagre blanket. After the shock of the discovery had worn off, a brief discussion ensued about the best way to get the injured man inside and warm, and it was decided that one other person should be involved to assist in carrying Thomas so as to avoid causing additional damage. Alfred was picked to be this person, being the strongest of those left in the house, and Albert was presently dispatched to bring him down. The young man soon stood before them, dazed at being so abruptly awoken.

“Do not stand there lollygagging, help Dr Clarkson carry Mr Barrow upstairs.”

“Yes Mr Carson.”

“Thank you Alfred, Mr Carson if you could please notify his Lordship that I am here, I want to speak to him. Better ask her Ladyship to be present as well.”

“Do you really think that necessary Dr Clarkson?”

“I think it necessary to involve as many people as possible to support Thomas, whilst also involving as few as possible to respect his privacy. This affair has already been discovered to Alfred and Albert, and in my opinion the only other member of staff who should be informed is Mrs Hughes. His Lordship and her Ladyship are Thomas’ employers, it would be wrong to inform one and not the other. Do you disagree Mr Carson?”

Mr Carson grumbled. “In point of logic, no, however I disagree on principle with involving ladies in such matters as this.”

“Sadly that cannot be avoided, so if you would be pleased to oblige me, I will be finished with Thomas in 30 minutes.”

“Very well. We will convene in his Lordship’s study.”

And so Lord and Lady Grantham, Mr Carson, and Mrs Hughes were assembled in the study, where in due course they were attended by Dr Clarkson.

“Well Dr Clarkson, what is it we are summoned here to witness?”

“Mr Barrow has been attacked my Lord. The attack was of a violent and indecent nature-“

“Do speak plainly Dr Clarkson, Mrs Hughes and I will not faint.”

“Of course my Lady.” He shifted and drew himself up to his full height. “Mr Barrow has been raped, by more than one person. Luckily, if that is the right word, despite the brutality of this attack, Mr Barrow’s injuries are not too severe, and he will make a full recovery.”

A shocked silence fell as the inhabitants tried to compute the meaning of the words uttered by Dr Clarkson. A flurry of questions were directed at him as each reached comprehension.

“Raped? Are you sure?”

“Yes my Lord. His injuries indicate no other possible conclusion.”

“You said more than one person, is it known how many exactly?”

“Thomas tells me that he counted eleven my Lady.”

“How is he, the poor dear?”

“He is sleeping at moment Mrs Hughes, I gave him a mild sedative.”

“How long will it take him to recover?”

“That, Mr Carson, is something I cannot tell you. Physically, it will perhaps be a week for his wounds to heal properly, but mentally? Emotionally? This will affect every aspect of Mr Barrow’s life, for the rest of his life.” A heavy silence fell as the weight of his words was felt by all those present.

Shut away in his room Thomas slept the deep, unrefreshing sleep of a drug-induced stupor, heart, body, and soul torn to shreds, unaware that his true test of spirit was still awaiting him, hidden and sheltered deep inside him. Dr Clarkson’s words were to prove truer than he could ever have imagined.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present you an update :)
> 
> Though in all seriousness I'm glad I managed to persuade myself to write and publish this. My anxiety has shot through the roof thanks to the state of the world recently, and I can't even stay at home and isolate properly because my job role means I'm classed as a key worker and still have to go to work. I'm simultaneously pleased that I've managed to retain some sense of normality in all this weirdness, and absolutely terrified that I have to leave my house. Writing this is helping keep me sane, and every hit, kudos, comment, and bookmark brings me untold joy. I love you all <3

“Is Mr Barrow not joining us for breakfast Mr Carson?”

“No Anna, Mr Barrow has come down with influenza, he will remain in his room until he has recovered. Mrs Hughes and I will look after him.”

“Oh I don’t mind helping, if there’s anything you need.”

“That is kind of you, but he has developed a fever that Dr Clarkson warns is very contagious, so I don’t want anyone going near him for the time being, is that clear?”

There were murmurs of assent around the table. “Will you at least pass on our best wishes to him?”

“Yes, I will, and I’m sure Mr Barrow will appreciate them. Ah,” the bells on the wall began to ring as the upstairs inhabitants began to wake, “Dr Clarkson is due to arrive at 10 ‘o’ clock, whoever speaks to him please be sure to send him straight up to Mr Barrow and come and notify me that he has arrived.”

A fortnight passed before Thomas had recovered sufficiently to face the world again. A fortnight of struggling to come to terms with the events of that night, of trying to put the pieces of his body and his mind back together, and of despairing on finding that they no longer fit. It was with no small amount of apprehension that he walked into the servants dining hall for breakfast, and was grateful to find that there was only one other person there.

Unfortunately that person turned out to be Miss O’Brien.

He steeled himself and walked over to his seat as nonchalantly as possible, not daring to look in her direction. He could feel her gaze on him as he lit his cigarette and he fought to control his shaking hands, pulling yesterday’s paper towards him, trying and failing to focus on the words on the page.

“So you’re well again?”

“I am thank you Miss O’Brien.”

“You don’t look it.”

“Why Miss O’Brien, I didn’t realise you cared.”

She clenched her jaw and went to bite out a reply, but was prevented by Mr Carson entering the room.

“Ah good, Mr Barrow, I was hoping you’d be down today, his Lordship is expecting guests this afternoon and I would like to be able to give a good turn out.”

“Of course Mr Carson. Always happy to help.”

Mr Carson coughed awkwardly and Thomas caught Miss O’Brien rolling her eyes, but there was no time to pursue either reaction as others had begun to fill the room, and Thomas was taken up with trying to respond appropriately to the well-wishes that were directed at him.

“I’m glad you’re up and about again Mr Barrow, we’ve missed not seeing you down here.”

Thomas caught the look that passed between Jimmy and Alfred that intimated that perhaps Daisy’s sentiments were not shared by the rest of the staff. “Thank you, that’s kind of you to say.”

The clock turned and life continued at the Abbey. Christmas was approaching, and the flurry of activity that accompanied the season proved to be both a blessing and a curse, as it afforded Thomas a focal point to ground himself as he pieced his jumbled life back together, whilst also demonstrating to him how much he had been altered by that night, and he hated everyone for being so normal when he felt like he’d been turned upside down and inside out. The majority of the household, family and staff, were kind to him during this time, willing to overlook any mistakes or terse comments where once they might have remonstrated or retaliated. Thomas was most surprised by Alfred’s extension of friendship, the antagonism between them disappearing in the face of almost-shared adversity. Now, instead of passive-aggressive comments and a lax attitude towards following his orders, Alfred was actively helpful in assisting Thomas in regaining lost ground, an ever-present, encouraging look on his face whenever Thomas addressed him or caught his eye. Neither ever mentioned what had occurred that night, though both remembered clearly the roles they had played. Thomas would have found his behaviour annoying if he didn’t appreciate it so much. His only wish was that it was Jimmy, and not Alfred, who, through being coerced into assisting him, had affected this transformation. He remained as surly and uncommunicative as ever, rending what was left of Thomas’s heart afresh with each rude retort and deliberately flirty remark directed at Daisy and Ivy.

The only other person who seemed to wish him ill was Miss O’Brien. She had noticed his new aversion to loud noises and sudden movements, as she made it her business to notice all things concerning him, and she appeared to find pleasure in making an effort to startle him at every possible moment. It took all of Thomas’ self-control not to fly at her, reasoning that she didn’t know why he reacted the way he did. She wanted to make him uncomfortable, for whatever spiteful reasons of her own, surely, he argued, if she knew the truth she wouldn’t be so cruel. He would never tell her, but the good feeling that he had once had for her convinced him that she could still care. So he bit his tongue and let his spirit fade a little more each time he caught the smug expression on her face.

At first when Thomas had started being sick, he had chalked it up to anxiety, to the effort of trying to be the person he had always been when he couldn’t quite remember what that was. Then, when he had become better at pretending and settled back into his surroundings, he told himself it was due to the efforts of others deliberately antagonising him. But despite any improvements he made, the sickness never passed, and was eventually accompanied by other changes, in his body and in his habits, that he refused to acknowledge. Uneasiness settled in his mind, and although he tried to banish it, every morning when he woke up and vomited into his chamber pot, every time he found his tastes had altered, and, more recently, every time he had to tug at the buttons on his waistcoat to close them forced him to face what he hoped couldn’t be. If these changes were ever noticed by other members of the household Thomas couldn’t say; no-one had ever inquired into his wellbeing before the incident, and although most had expressed gladness at his recovery from his supposed illness, it never went further than trite remarks and platitudes. Each evening as he undressed he knew that this uncertainty could never last, and each morning as he picked up his livery he persuaded himself that he could go on just one more day. Eventually things proved to be more than he could handle.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“It’s just a headache Ivy, I’ll be fine.”

“You look very pale though.”

“I’m sure Mr Barrow appreciates your attentions Ivy, but as you both currently have jobs to do may I suggest you save them for a more appropriate hour?” Mr Carson appeared in the doorway and regarded them both with a look of mild irritation. As Thomas followed Mr Carson up the stairs he was assaulted by a spell of dizziness – he had been suffering from bouts of nausea all day and lamented an advancement of his symptoms when dinner was about to be served. He swallowed and checked himself before continuing with Mr Carson on his way to the dining hall. It was only by sheer determination that he managed to make it through the formalities of the hour, hiding behind the blank mask of the servant, concentrating hard to keep himself upright. He supposed it was only his luck that he didn’t manage to make it back to his room before he felt his control waver, the plate slipping from his grasp and the floor rushing up to greet him.

Confusion reigned in the dining room following the resulting crash, and despite his concern, Mr Carson despaired at Mr Barrow exposing himself so to the entire household. Alfred and Mr Branson were employed in carrying Thomas back to his room, and Dr Clarkson was telephoned for and attended with all due speed. Nothing ever remained secret in the house for long, particularly nothing so public as practically fainting in front of the whole family, and Mr Carson was assaulted with questions the moment he stepped into the servants’ dining hall for dinner; although he managed to restore order and peace for the duration of the meal, it was with difficulty that he managed to extricate himself from the room afterwards and shut himself in his study. He was left to enjoy his solitude and order his thoughts until a late hour, when he was interrupted by Mr Bates knocking on his door. 

“Is everything alright with Mr Barrow?”

“Yes, thank you Mr Bates, Dr Clarkson has seen to him believes it is nothing serious, merely a relapse of influenza.”

“But that was months ago, surely he’s well over it by now.”

“Evidently he is not.”

The look on Mr Bates’ face told Mr Carson plainly that he did not believe him.

A week later Dr Clarkson returned, face pale and impassive. Thomas refused to look at him as they were all once again stood in Lord Grantham’s study.

“Well Dr Clarkson, don’t keep us in suspense too long. I understand you have news for Barrow.”

“Indeed my Lord. I have the results from the tests I performed last week, and they confirm that this is what I thought it was.” He turned to face Thomas. “Thomas I’m afraid you are with child.”

It was like being shot all over again. His body went cold. He felt sick with dread. The outside world ceased to exist as his focus zoned in heavily on his perceived injury. Even the wound on his hand began to throb. He took a few deep breaths and gripped the back of the nearest chair to steady himself. He shook his head, refusing to believe it, and began to tremble.

“Thomas I understand how difficult this must be for you-”

“Don’t tell me that you understand, how could you possibly understand?” Thomas stormed out of the room, heedless of the indignant shouts of Mr Carson and the imploring pleas of Dr Clarkson, slamming the door behind him.

It was Mr Carson who eventually found Thomas, hiding behind the coal store, the evidence of his upset marked in salty tracks down his face. Resisting the urge to cuff him, and minding the entreaties of Dr Clarkson and her Ladyship to extend him kindness, Mr Carson escorted Thomas back to the study to face Lord and Lady Grantham. If he had dared to look up from the floor he would have seen sorrow and compassion mingled on their faces; instead he kept his eyes trained on the pattern of the rug in an attempt to maintain his composure.

“Are you quite recovered now Barrow?”

“Yes thank you my Lady. I must apologise for-”

“Please don’t worry about that Barrow, we understand what a shock this is and will not hold you accountable.”

Thomas felt Mr Carson bristle with indignation next to him, but he wisely kept his peace. “Thank you my Lady.”

“And do not worry about your position Barrow,” Lord Grantham interposed, “my wife and I have agreed that you may remain here for the duration of your pregnancy and after the child is born. Arrangements will be made and you may raise it here.”

The rush of relief at his Lordship’s words almost knocked Thomas off his feet. A spark of hope flared and a surge of pleasant feeling rose up inside him. The depth of his emotion was such that when he spoke again he was able to make no noise above a whisper. “Thank you my Lord.”

Lady Grantham clapped her hands and exclaimed. “Well then, you are to have a baby. Such a Christmas present! There are certainly a lot of preparations to make. Dr Clarkson, how far along is Barrow?”

“By my estimate my Lady he should be 15 weeks.”

Lady Grantham nodded. “And you will give birth at around 40 weeks. So you see you’re almost half way there already. I understand that you are unhappy, and you have the sympathy of every woman the world over, but it will not change what is coming. Give yourself a few days to cry, but then you must begin to prepare for baby’s arrival. You’ll find the time will pass as if it were no time at all.”

“Yes my Lady.”

“Very good. Carson, please take Barrow back to his room and see that he is comfortable, then come back here. You will be excused from your morning duties tomorrow Barrow, we will see you at lunch.”

“Thank you my Lady.”

Thomas and Mr Carson walked in silence back to the servant’s quarters, Thomas because he wasn’t sure if he would speak or cry, Mr Carson because he knew if he did speak it would be to reprimand Thomas sharply, injustice of the situation be damned. Mr Carson followed Thomas into his room and shut the door behind him.

“I hope that you are sensible of the favour you have been shown this evening, and of the goodness of his Lordship in allowing you to continue residing under his roof in such circumstances.”

“I am Mr Carson.”

“Good.” Mr Carson sighed. “I will need to think about what your new duties will be, seeing as you are to keep your position, though quite what use there is in an under butler that cannot show his face above stairs I do not know.”

Thomas did not make a reply. Mr Carson motioned for Thomas to sit, who perched carefully on the edge of his bed, before turning to leave to return to the study, but was drawn back by an entreaty from the young man.

“I knew, that I was … I kept hoping that I was wrong, but,” Thomas drew a shaky breath, “I’ve noticed things. I’ve been feeling sick in the mornings. I’m tired all the time. And recently my clothes have felt tighter than usual.” He put his hand on his stomach and rubbed absentmindedly. “I just thought if I ignored it, it might go away.”

Mr Carson sighed again, exasperated. “And when, pray, has such a course of action ever ended favourably?”

Thomas ducked his head. “I’m sorry Mr Carson.”

“Never mind that now. Get some rest, and we will talk further tomorrow. As you will not be required for morning duties, do not worry about being present at breakfast so early, but mind you are ready promptly for lunch service.”

“Yes Mr Carson.”

Tears had begun to spill down Thomas’ cheeks again, and Mr Carson was struck by the fear written on the drawn and pale features. He put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. Thomas turned and hid his face against his arm, sobbing softly.

“Mr Carson I’m scared.”

“I know.”

“I’m so scared.”

“I know. Try to get some sleep. Things will work themselves out.”

When Mr Carson returned to the study, Dr Clarkson and Lord Grantham were deep in conversation.

“I was aware that Mr Barrow had this condition, he came to me once before in a similar situation, oh it must have been before the war. But unfortunately, or fortunately, I suppose, he had miscarried before I examined him.”

“I see.” Lord Grantham had risen and begun to pace in irritation. “And you didn’t see fit to notify me of this?”

“With respect my Lord, I am bound by patient confidentiality, I couldn’t in good conscience reveal that information to you, particularly as Mr Barrow had requested that I keep it secret. He also assured me that the circumstances that had brought him to me would not happen again in future, and he has been truthful in that regard. I apologise that I kept this from you, but I do not regret that I did.”

Lord Grantham looked ready to push the matter but was checked by a gesture from his wife.

“I am not interested in something that happened over six years ago. All that matters is what is happening now and what support Barrow will need in the next few months. Despite the appearance he is trying to maintain, Barrow is clearly not dealing with this very well, though I can’t say that that surprises me, I know of no-one similarly placed who would.” Lady Grantham paused as she considered her next words carefully. “Dr Clarkson are there any signs that we should be on the lookout for?”

“No specific things my Lady, no, these things are always very individual and should be treated as such. The most important thing will be to make sure he doesn’t isolate himself too much, as he will undoubtedly begin to do as his pregnancy progresses. Mr Barrow is a very determined young man, I honestly wouldn’t put it past him to contrive to throw himself down the stairs in a fit of desperation.”

“I do not believe there is any danger of him doing anything like that my Lord,” Mr Carson interjected. “It seems Mr Barrow was aware of his predicament before this evening. Not absolutely, but there have been indications that he tells me he has been ignoring for some time. I do not believe there is any risk of him harming either himself or his child.”

Dr Clarkson expressed his relief at that statement.

“I should like your advice my Lord, on what I should tell the rest of the staff. It will be nigh on impossible to conceal this from them for much longer, yet I know that there are particular persons that Mr Barrow will not wish to be involved.”

“Yes Carson, of course.” His Lordship paced towards the fireplace to ruminate. “I think the best thing to do will be to inform them all when you are sat at breakfast tomorrow morning. I sympathise with Barrow not wishing to certain people to know, but for the majority their help will be invaluable in the coming months; I do not think it would be wise to tell some but not others, it will only lead to gossip and rumour-mongering, and that’s the last thing Barrow needs at a time like this.”

The party found themselves in agreement on that count.

“Well then I think that settles things as well as they can be for this evening. When may we expect to see you again Dr Clarkson?”

“I will need to schedule regular appointments with Mr Barrow to monitor both his and the child’s health. I expect fortnightly will be sufficient at the present moment. I will telephone Mr Carson in the morning to arrange the first.”

With that they concluded and departed for the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update #2 :) I think this is the longest chapter I've written so far, so enjoy!
> 
> I hope you're all keeping safe and well in these difficult times. In keeping with the theme of this story, it will get worse before it gets better, but it will get better.

“Now, before we get started I have some news I need to share with you.”

“Is it about Mr Barrow, Mr Carson?”

“Yes, James, it does concern him. You all no doubt remember a few months ago when Mr Barrow was absent for a few weeks, it was said with influenza?” Nods and mumbles of agreement came from the table. “Well I’m afraid that that was not strictly true. Mr Barrow did spend the time recovering, but not from illness. He had been attacked one evening returning from the village. The attack was of a violent and indecent nature, as a result of which he has been left with child. You are all aware, I hope, that there are some men who possess this ability?” Less nods and mumbles this time as the servants tried to process their shock.

“With child?”

“Yes James, he is.”

“As in pregnant? Having a baby?” Jimmy’s face was contorted with disgust. Mr Carson glared stonily at him. “That is indeed what that means.”

“But he’s a man.”

“James, such facts were quite plain to me this morning, there is no need for you to repeat them.”

“I hope, Mr Carson,” Miss O’Brien cut in, “you will be insisting on his leaving us.”

“No Miss O’Brien, I will not, his Lordship and her Ladyship are both desirous of his staying on as a member of this household, and of his raising his child here.”

“But surely they don’t intend to condone such conduct-”

“Mr Barrow did not choose to find himself thus, and I’ll thank you not to question his Lordship’s wisdom in the course of action decided upon.”

“Excuse me Mr Carson, but I don’t think anyone chooses to find themselves with evidence of their shame.”

“What I in fact mean, Miss O’Brien, is that Mr Barrow was not a willing participant in the encounter that left him in this situation, something that I had hoped I’d made clear in my previous statement. Any more words from you,” he hastened on as she looked ready to make another rejoinder, “and you will find yourself stood before her Ladyship.”

Miss O’Brien coloured but held her tongue. She managed to control herself for the remainder of breakfast, until Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes left the room, at which point the pot began to boil over.

“Well I’m sure I don’t know what the world is coming to, allowing something such as this to pass unpunished. ‘Not a willing participant’ my foot, he’d be only too happy to throw himself under anyone who asked. Just because he has cause to regret it now is no reason to cry wolf.”

Ivy, who until now had stood quietly staring at the table, snapped up at this, cheeks red and eyes angry, “I think that’s very unkind Miss O’Brien, even for you, and God forbid you should ever find yourself in such a situation.” She dashed out, brushing off Alfred who had risen to console her. Miss O’Brien left an astonished look on her face as she looked around the table.

“Mr Carson’s right.”

“And what do you mean by that Alfred?”

“What I say. Mr Barrow wasn’t willing. And you shouldn’t say things like that when you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The atmosphere when Thomas came down to serve lunch was such that for a moment he thought he’d stepped back to that late September morning, coming down for the first time since his assault, except this time it was different, and it was worse. This time when he caught someone’s eye, they hurried to avert theirs and were reluctant to speak to him, this time he had to live with the knowledge that they knew what had happened to him and what he was, this time he couldn’t use their ignorance to help him pretend it hadn’t happened. The day passed in a horrid blur, mute and grey, and Thomas felt like a spectator of his own life, looking but not seeing, like he was always a moment too late. After dinner Alfred dithered and shifted awkwardly, reluctant to be dismissed and obviously fighting with himself, and Thomas rolled his eyes inwardly.

“Is there something you wanted to say Alfred?”

He took a breath to steady himself. “Mr Barrow, I don’t care to conceal the fact that I think you’re an abomination, but I am sorry that you’ve found yourself in this situation.”

Thomas stared blankly after Alfred as he walked away, the sympathy of his sentiments smothered by the slap of the insult. He fought to control his features as indignation warred with hurt inside him, blinking back his tears and clenching his fists in an effort to stop himself from going after Alfred and punching in the face. That first day was difficult, and Thomas would have liked to have been able to say that at least it got easier, but in reality he felt like he was riding a carousel, up and down and spinning round and round out of his control. Later on, after everyone had gone to bed, he stood sideways in front of his mirror in the candlelight, hands hovering over the growing curve of his stomach that he was finally admitting was there. Slight fluttering movements appeared, and Thomas’ heart began to beat faster as he realised that they were not the butterflies he had first assumed they were when he’d felt them over a week ago, but his baby growing, and stretching it’s legs, and becoming his baby. Despite his reservations, excitement began to bud and as the weeks went on he found himself looking forward to his baby’s arrival with, if not quite joy, then a good degree of anticipation. His bump grew steadily, and his duties began to diminish as Mr Carson stopped allowing him to go upstairs when any of the family were in. Thomas half wished that they would bring forward their trip to Duneagle to allow him a degree more freedom; he might think twice about wandering about the house when Mr Crawley was in, but he couldn’t care less if Mr Branson saw him, when he was no better than him anyway.

Mr Carson had dismissed him until dinner and he sat on his bed working his way through a plate of sandwiches Mrs Patmore had pushed into his hands. She found it difficult to look him in the eye, as, if the truth be known, did the rest of the staff, but she appeared to consider making sure he ate enough her duty, interrogating and encouraging him whenever she saw him, sneaking him dainties and fancies that, having worked with him for 10 years, she knew he liked. Today’s selection came from a platter that had been prepared for Lord Grantham, Mr Crawley, and Mr Branson, who were taking what Mr Crawley had jokingly called ‘a working lunch’ discussing plans for the estate; Mrs Patmore had called them leftovers when she handed them to him, but he knew she had deliberately made too many to allow herself the excuse.

He relaxed back into his pillows once he’d finished them, brushing crumbs off the bedspread and shifting to find a more comfortable position for his hips. He could feel his baby wriggling and shifting inside him and put his hand on his stomach, stroking where he could feel the movement, following it over his abdomen. It was something that he’d taken to doing when he was alone ever since his pregnancy had been confirmed, and he found it so comforting it was becoming a challenge to stop himself from doing it at every available opportunity. As much as some of the servants seemed to share in his excitement, he knew that being reminded of his condition made them uncomfortable, and he sought to conceal his bump as much as possible when he was around others, holding shoes, or hats, or trays in front of him, once even a large picture he’d volunteered to help Jimmy move, until Mr Carson had shouted at them, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline as he forbade Thomas from lifting anything heavier than a shoe brush or being more than a foot off the floor until after the baby had arrived. It had been worth it to share the dressing down with Jimmy, even if he did then refuse to look at him for the rest of the day.

Indulging his fantasies for a moment, he had picked up his tea and was resting his arm on his stomach, the cup held loosely in his fingers, when he received a sharp kick, landed directly on his wrist, causing him to drop the cup, tea and porcelain scattering all over the floor. Thomas stared at the mess, flabbergasted, then jumped as Anna came rushing through his door, drawn by the noise as she walked nearby.

“I heard a smash, is everything alright?” Thomas could only shrug by way of reply as laughter bubbled up and burst from his lips. He managed to relate what had happened between breaths and was joined by Anna in his mirth, only to be checked by the baby wriggling in discomfort as the vibrations from his laughter disturbed it. Anna admonished him lightly once they’d calmed down, taking the plate from him and ordering him to sit still, “before you do any more damage.” The baby was still moving when she returned, and Anna eyed Thomas, still stroking his stomach, with wonder as she swept, pausing now and then and starting to ask him a question, but always thinking better of it.

“You can ask, you know. I don’t mind.”

Anna stood up and fiddled with her hands. “Is he still moving?” He nodded. “Do you mind if I ...” she trailed off, leaving her outstretched hand to finish her request for her. Thomas shifted and made room for her on the edge of the bed, guiding her hand to where he felt the movements the most, always missing the bumps of the baby’s hands and feet by moments.

“It’ll be exciting when Lady Mary’s this big.” They both gasped as the baby kicked Anna’s hand, and she laughed happily. “You must not have much longer to go now.”

“No, Dr Clarkson thinks it will only be a few more weeks.”

“Are you excited?”

Her question took Thomas by surprise and he turned his head to avoid meeting her eyes, the smile vanishing from his face. He was excited, but it was more than that. “I’m ... apprehensive. I think.” He went to elaborate, but was choked by a rush of emotion as tears spilled from his eyes. “Actually I’m terrified.” He leaned into her hand as she brushed the tears from his cheeks. “What if,” he sniffed, “what if he doesn’t look like me? I mean at all? I don’t know what I’ll do if every time I look at him, all I see is one of them.”

Anna looked horrified at his sudden shift in demeanour. “Oh Thomas I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine, I’m fine.” He dabbed at his face with his handkerchief. “I’m just,” another dismissive wave, “hormonal, I suppose.” Though in his heart he knew it wasn’t the whole truth. He would never share it with Anna, and the one person who he would have considered sharing it with now made it her mission in life to belittle and hurt him. How could he tell her, how could he tell anyone, that every time he caught sight of himself he wondered if this is how he would have looked 8 years ago, if this is how he would have felt, if this is where he would have found himself, if he’d only given himself the chance. Sometimes it hurt more than he could bear, but bear it he must, for the sake of this baby, if not in memory of the first.

Dr Clarkson’s predicted ‘few more weeks’ turned out to be slightly longer than expected, to Thomas’ eternal annoyance. It was one thing when he felt that his baby was still growing and his body was supporting it, it was quite another to exist in a seemingly interminable heavily pregnant state. The permanent tiredness alone was enough to drive him mad, but it was accompanied by a deep ache in his bones that he was never truly rid of.

Thomas paced around his room, one hand massaging his hip, the other supporting his swollen stomach, desperately trying to alleviate the dull pain in his lower abdomen. It had been coming and going for the past few days, but Dr Clarkson had banned him from taking any pain powders in case they harmed the baby. Confusion filled him as he felt warmth gushing between his legs and water drip onto his feet, rapidly to be replaced by shock and panic as he realised what was happening. He hastily changed his pyjama bottoms for fresh ones and slung his dressing gown around his shoulders, before moving towards the stairs to find Mrs Hughes. A particularly strong contraction arrested his progress, and Thomas clutched his belly and slumped against the wall. The noise brought Alfred scowling out of his room.

“Go and fetch Mrs Hughes, please.”

Alfred glanced at him with barely concealed disgust, but turned and left all the same. He returned with that lady a few minutes later, and remained hovering in the background.

“Now Mr Barrow, what’s happened, why are you sitting on the floor?”

“My waters have broken.”

“I see.” Mrs Hughes took his hands and squeezed them softly. “Alfred, please go and speak to Mr Carson, tell him to ring Dr Clarkson and notify him that Mr Barrow has gone into labour, and then ask him to come up here.” She turned back to Thomas. “Now then, let’s get you up onto your knees, you’ll be much more comfortable.”

Mr Carson came and checked on them after placing the call, but otherwise they were left in peace until Dr Clarkson arrived to take Thomas to the hospital. Thomas was grateful for the privacy, as another contraction came over him whilst they were waiting, and he was secretly glad that Dr Clarkson had absolutely forbidden him from having a natural birth and insisted on a caesarean because, trepidation about an operation aside, he wasn’t sure he’d cope at all if the contractions were only supposed to get worse. The ride to the hospital was tense, as Dr Clarkson kept glancing at him with uncertainty in the rear view mirror every time Thomas had a contraction, and he was more grateful than he could say that Mrs Hughes had stayed with him. He was finally forced to let go of her hand when he was whisked away into theatre, and the way that lady’s lips pressed themselves into a thin line suggested that she was just as unhappy about the situation as he was. Would that she could have been by him throughout, but Dr Clarkson had firmly ordered her to remain outside and await Mr Carson, who was following with a suitcase of essentials for Thomas.

So outside she remained, and was forced to content herself with pacing up and down outside the room where Thomas lay, her eyes fixed on the door, hands fiddling with her hat and fixing invisible faults with her dress until an annoyed puff from Mr Carson, who sat on one of the chairs provided in the hallway, forced them back down to clench her handbag. Dr Clarkson came out afterwards and assured them that the operation had been a success, and that both parent and child were doing well, but she would not be easy until she had seen them both with her own eyes. After what seemed an eternity of sitting and listening to the clock in the hallway tick, they were finally allowed them inside. Thomas was sat up in the hospital bed, pale but smiling at the small bundle in his arms, and Mrs Hughes hurried up to him, eager to see the newborn, Mr Carson’s footsteps not far behind her own. He was wrapped loosely in a cream blanket, snuffling and sighing with Thomas’ gentle rocking motion, fingers curling around the edges of the blanket where they poked out. There was silence in the room as each watched the baby, absorbed by his movements, enthralled by every new thing he did, utterly fascinated when he yawned and stretched his arm out towards his father.

“Mr Barrow will need to remain here for a few days to make sure he’s healing properly, and to allow him time to adjust. He will be allowed visitors, so you can see him any time you like in hours, though I’d be grateful if you could limit your numbers to three at a time.”

“Thank you Dr Clarkson, we’ll bear that in mind.” The doctor turned and went away, and the three were left gazing at the baby, who by this time had opened his eyes and was regarding them all with a blank stare. Thomas stroked a finger gently down his face, enchanted by the sight.

“I didn’t know how I’d feel when he was here. I’ve hated the past 5 months. It felt so foreign, and I hated the feeling of something growing inside me, like they left something there. And I hate them. But I love him, because he’s mine. He’s just mine.” Thomas kissed the baby’s head reverently. He looked up at the two elderly servants, knowing that Mr Carson, still visibly ill at ease, was only there by Mrs Hughes’ persuasion, and began again nervously.

“I had been wondering, since he won’t ever know his true grandparents … I haven’t seen or spoken to my parents since I came to Downton, we didn’t part on good terms.”

“You didn’t tell them you were with child?”

“I sent them a letter, but it was returned unopened.”

“Oh, I am sorry.”

Thomas smiled gratefully. “I would like for my son to have someone other than me in his life that he can turn to. And I wanted to ask, Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes, if you would like to be his godparents.”

Mrs Hughes face lit up and she smiled brightly. “Oh Thomas, of course we would, it would be an honour!”

Mr Carson was slower at expressing his delight, but in due course it came, followed by further exclamations of Mrs Hughes’ happiness.

“Would you like to hold him?”

“Oh yes please, if I may.” Thomas held the baby up and she took him gently into her arms. “Hello!” Her voice dropped to a sacred whisper as she addressed the child she now held. “Dear wee bonny boy. We’ve been waiting for you. We have!”

Even Mr Carson managed to smile. “Have you thought of a name for him?”

“I’d had a few thoughts, but I wanted to wait until he was here and see what suited him. I think I like Jonathan best. Jonathan Samuel Barrow”

In the end Thomas stayed in hospital for a week before being discharged. He very quickly discovered that looking after a baby was more complicated than he had ever thought possible, and he was very grateful to the midwife who came round to him multiple times a day to give him help and reassurance. Feeding his baby was the most bizarre sensation he had ever experienced, a tingling suction that he knew he would gladly give up as soon as he was able, regardless of the comfort he felt from having Jonathan so close to him. His favourite moments so far were late evening in the hospital, after dinner had been served and visitors had left, when he could sit with his pyjama shirt undone holding Jonathan to his chest, stroking his soft tufts of hair and feeling his puffs of cool breath against his skin. When the time came to leave it felt odd to have to put on his morning suit and wear a hat on his head when he’d been in nothing but pyjamas and his dressing gown for the better part of a week, but before long he was watching the familiar walls of the Abbey grow larger through the car window as they approached. There was only Mr Carson and Albert in the yard to greet them, something Mr Carson had deliberately orchestrated so as not to cause disturbance. Albert took Thomas’ case for him, with many a glance at the baby basket he held, but Mr Carson noisily clearing his throat hurried him back inside. Drawing courage from Mrs Hughes’ kind smiles, he took a steadying breath and followed them through the door.

At the sound of the door closing, Daisy’s head appeared in the window to the kitchen. A loud exclamation and a rush of feet, and she and Ivy raced up to Thomas’ side to see the baby. They peered into the basket and could not be prevailed upon to do more than coo and delight over the newborn for a number of minutes, impervious even to Mr Carson’s sternest warnings. Eventually they suffered themselves to be led back into the kitchen and Thomas was allowed to continue upstairs to his room. Tears sprang to his eyes at the sight of the crib that had been built by the side of his bed, little silver bells and white cotton tied into bows around the corners, fine crochet and broderie blankets folded neatly on the mattress, alongside a box labelled affectionately _‘For Barrow and Baby’_ ; inside Thomas found an array of knitted baby clothes, caps and bonnets, mittens and booties, and matinee jackets and vests and all manner of baby paraphernalia. Thomas wept at the sight of it, because this kind of thing took planning, it took all of them being involved to do something for him when he couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken a truly kind word to any of them. He changed Jonathan into the smallest of the clothes, kissing his dainty feet as he slipped the booties on and wrapping him snugly in one of the blankets, then went over and poked at the fire that had been lit, sending a burst of warmth into the room. He stumbled as he straightened up, and abruptly realised how tired he still was in spite of the sheer amount of resting he’d done in the past week. He wanted nothing more than to relax into his pillows and marvel at his baby, the little stubby nose and tiny fingers with tinier fingernails. There was a knock at the door as he sat back down, and Mr Bates entered his room. They regarded one another warily.

“Mr Bates.”

“Mr Barrow.” He took a step through the doorway. “I wanted to congratulate you on the birth of your son.”

Thomas smiled mildly. “Thank you Mr Bates.”

“I hope you will be very happy.” He turned and closed the door as he left, leaving Thomas alone with Jonathan in the peaceful quiet of the evening, the dim crackling of the fire accompanying the baby’s soft snuffling as he slept.

“I hope so too.”


End file.
